


Infuriating imperfection

by HikariHM



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Internal Conflict, Kissing, M/M, sort of fluff i think?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikariHM/pseuds/HikariHM
Summary: Augustine was imperfect.Too imperfect.And even though there he had him, craving his company, all hypnotized by his voice and the words this verbalized, getting lost in the curves of his hair, finding his hands irremediably attracted to his waist, falling each day harder and harder for him, making him feel so drunk in infatuation, so stupid, so vain.
Relationships: Fleur-de-lis | Lysandre/Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	Infuriating imperfection

He always liked perfection; correct illumination, precise room temperature, soft textures, fine aromas, geometric patterns, symmetric décor, careful color pallets, architecture, tidiness, quietness, easiness...

He was an aesthete himself. He didn’t ask for anything more or anything less than that. And as he grew old he could create to himself such sort of word; of beautiful imagery, of chosen textures, of perfection.

He found all the perfection he needed on himself. He wouldn’t say that led him to get lonesome, instead, he’d say he chose to be that way.

Because people weren’t perfect, and because of that they always expected him to not be, to allow them to drag him to their flaws. And he didn’t need a partner staring at him with tearstained eyes while reproaching him. Not again. Not at that point in his life.

“You’re too cold,” he remembered they all said. “You only care about yourself,” they would repeat in the middle of an argument, while screaming desperately, disrupting the stillness of his world. “Show emotion. Show me you care. Show _something_.”

But they only demanded him to show flaw. So he learned to get past that, to be on his very own; and that worked for him. Because people only were imperfect. Love was imperfection. Foolishness. A lose of time. A fall that wasn’t worth the filth. And he knew it.

So, then...

Then why he found himself helpless after such a handful as Augustine Sycamore was?

He was flawed to the point of absurdness; every part of him that got close to perfection ended up ruined by a minor detail. One example of that which infuriated him was his dark hair, soft to the look, even softer to the touch, which moved fantastically but was unruly at its ends. Or his impeccable attire, with an immaculate lab coat, symmetrically pleasing to the look, with colors that accurately matched his eyes and hair and pale skin, being ruined by those unfitting orange socks he liked to display.

But that not only came down to his physics:

He had such a brilliant mind, he was passionate about his research, about his vocation, but so often he abandoned himself thanks to that, he got so excited that he forgot to eat, that he screwed his sleeping schedule at the minor chance he got; he had an infinite kindness, a genuine one, but he wasted it by showing it to everyone, even to those filthy beings who didn’t deserve it; he was sensible to his reality, introspective, and for that at the same time he relayed so much in his emotion, being sometimes impulsive, deciding with his guts and not with his reason. He also appreciated nice environments, he tried to keep his lab as tidy and nice a possible for him and all of his coworkers, but smoked so much when he got anxious and ruined it. He was so smart, so compromised with his reality and society, yet, he wasn’t definitive, he lacked decision, he’d go around saying that there wasn’t just one truth but different ways to approach the same issue. Their morals matched, but he wasn’t a man of strong ideals, instead, he lacked determination.

And it went like that; at every quality Lysandre could find him an annoying flaw corresponded, spoiling it all.

Augustine was imperfect.

Too imperfect.

And even though, there he had him, craving his company, all hypnotized by his voice and the words this verbalized, getting lost in the curves of his hair, finding his hands irremediably attracted to his waist, falling each day harder and harder for him, making him feel so drunk in infatuation, so stupid, so vain.

Because it wasn’t just that he fell in love with such flawed being, but that at the same time that man made him be imperfect as well. 

Love always had its very sweet, heavenly side; kisses, hugs, caresses, intimacy that made the soul flutter and the body tingle. That got to deceive people into thinking it was the reason for life’s beauty and worth. 

But Augustine always got the best of him. And awakened inside his very pride chest all those ugly emotions he always fleed from. 

It always happened whenever someone got too close to his Augustine, when filthy hands touched him, when hypocritical arms wrapped him, when other’s stupid words made him blush, when other lukewarm mind agreed with his weak ideals. Whenever that happened Lysandre felt unworthy. Vain. Replaceable. Out of place. _Imperfect_. And then a red blur of ire took over him, and he acted out of the same irrationality he criticized so much, and showed it to Augustine, letting him have such power over him, even if he’d never take advantage of that. 

Jealousy was never his thing. Never in his life he doubted his worth. But he was so scared that Augustine could walk away from him, that he’d found someone else, someone as sweet and as foolishly indulgent as him, someone “less extremist”, a match just as imperfect as him and with that just rip his heart and his perfect world apart all along. 

Ire. Insecurity. Jealousy. Infatuation. All ugly, pathetic feelings. All feelings that Augustine awakened inside of him. That he didn’t even feel like running away from, which was the worst part of that

Because it only took to look at him to immediately succumb to such infuriating imperfection. 

“Lys,” it only took to listen to his name shortened in such blatant way to _cautivate_ him.

“Huh?”

“Did I tell you today that you look so good?” It only took a soft chuckle after his flattery to disarm all of his moving parts.

And to leave him speechless.

“Come here,” it only took those simple words to allow the other to wrap his slim arms around his neck and let him pull him close, to fall into his kiss.

And it only took a kiss from those lips to make him lose his mind, to break all of his mental structures of symmetry and perfection, to forget about everything, to not mind at all the right and the wrong.

And when Augustine parted, leaving him longing, needing more, it only took to look at his pure blue eyes, at his flawless smile, at the perfect rosy color of his blushed cheeks to get him to speak his heart out loud the way he never did with anyone else.

“I love you, Augustine.”

And it only took that to make fire burn inside his lover’s benevolent clear eyes.

“I love you more,” he’d whisper for him only to listen, wholeheartedly, as if that was the only truth that mattered in that world. “So much more.”

Because being like that, he could only succumb to his charm, to his heavenly charm, and let himself go, let himself being just as imperfect as him, to enjoy that while he could.

Because, deep down, between each small break to gasp for air, Lysandre knew that, in order to achieve his one and only life goal and be able to create a perfect world not only for himself but for every worthy being out there, he’d eventually had to leave his precious but weak-minded Augustine behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I always sort of liked this ship, but it wasn't until the beginning of this week that it hit me and that I started to actually love it, like. Wow. And immediately this idea occurred to me and even if I found it a little pointless I ended up writing it anyways oops. So here we are. I really do hope I've got the characters well, because I'm still in the middle of my X playthrough but couldn't resist the urge of writing about them.  
> And this is it. Probably I'll write more about them. Yeah, look at me arriving late to this ship as I always do.


End file.
